


What I carry between my Fingers

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [7]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Attraction, Dark Betty, Dark Jughead, F/M, Violence, bughead - Freeform, established relationshi, murder couple, vigilante betty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 13:17:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15073982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: Dark Betty and Dark Jughead pay a visit to Chic.





	What I carry between my Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoy!

Chic didn't particularly want to answer the door when he heard the knocking. 

But it had been a comparatively easy day and he'd manage to dispose of the latest body faster than he'd originally thought he would be able to. It'd put him in a good mood, and that's why he decided to answer. 

He opened it onto a sunny day and a friendly looking couple that were quite clearly, rather sickeningly, in love. He stared at them hard for a moment, face impassive and giving away nothing as he scrutinised them. The girl was accosting him with pastel pinks and whites seeping into every item of clothing she wore, irritatingly bright blonde hair and naive blue eyes. Even her lipstick was pink and slightly smudged- his eyes flickered to the young man beside her, and noticed the faintest traces of pink on his lips, and he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

The man stood just behind the woman, slightly taller, with a beaten beanie on his dark hair. He was scruffier than her, but they clearly lived in a bubbled word of love and sunshine. It made Chic slightly sick. The taller boy may have been in a slightly faded red plaid shirt and old blue jeans, his satchel green with pieces of paper sticking out of every opening resting on his hip, but he was just as ditzy as the girl. Chic swallowed down his bile. They deserved each other.

"Hi!" The girl beamed, and Chic wondered vaguely whether they were about to convert him to the all loving truth of Jesus Christ. "I'm Betty Cooper, and this is-"

"Jughead Jones," the boy said on cue, smiling a little. 

"-and we're local journalists for the Seaside Paper," she clasped her hands together before her chest hopefully, her eyes huge and blue and innocent. "We we wondering if we could ask you a few questions about the disappearance of Rebecca Carper? Apparently she lived on this street and we were just wondering if you knew her, or even if you could just answer a few questions about the local area-"

"I'm busy." Chic informed them, cocking his head as if they'd dare to challenge his words. 

The pink-jumpered girl looked impossibly sad, but the boy flexed his fingers against his satchel strap hopefully. "It wouldn't take long," he aded helpfully "we wouldn't include your name in the article, we just want to get a feel for the dangers of a small town." He met his eyes, and Chic sighed. "It would be a huge favour. We're just trying to get our names out into the world of journalism. It's tougher than you'd think to make a name for yourself and-"

"Fine." Chic lifted his hand, just to stop the talking, and they both beamed at him. He rolled his eyes, unable to stop himself, and stiffly held the door open a little more. Betty ducked under his arm and practically skipped into his house and Jughead nodded at him, following suit. Chic guessed they were probably in their early twenties, a few years younger than him. As he followed them into the small kitchen, he saw Jughead pulling out his laptop and Betty; a dictaphone. His eyes flickered across the kitchen subtly, just checking to ensure there was no stray drop of blood left unwiped from the clean up last night. He saw nothing, and so sat down, trying to mask his distaste as curiosity and not nervousness. "What do you guys wanna know?" 

Betty leaned in across the table, and the cuffs of her white sleeves protruded from under her tight pink jumper onto her pale hands. Chic wondered briefly whether she had  _any_ sense of self preservation, if she couldn't see him for the murderer and predator he was. "Did you know her?" She asked, voice barely more than a whisper. Chic wanted to snort. It was probably more excitement than this girl had ever had in her life. 

"Not really," he lied, shrugging. "I'd seen her around here and there though."

Jughead began typing, and Chic turned his attention to him. He wondered what kind of a name Jughead was, but decided he didn't particularly care. "Where abouts did you see her?" He asked curiously.

"Around the corner of the street, there's this guy who hangs around there, probably sold her drugs, or at least that's what I always assumed." He carefully looked away "I didn't really want to be involved. You can understand." 

"Sure, sure," Betty agreed eagerly, ponytail bobbing with the force of her nod. 

They asked relatively simple questions, and Chic doubted they've ever really make it as journalists. Unless they were going forward as a husband-wife team, that might be niche enough to warrant some attention. But all in all, he didn't feel in the least bit rattled and they seemed to take everything he said at face value, which was probably not a beneficial skill for their craft. They even drank the tea he gave them, which could easily have been drugged. He wondered if anyone even knew they were here. He wondered if they were as naive and simple as they looked. 

"Betty, we have to go," Jughead murmured, checking his watch. It was the most expensive thing he was wearing and Chic assumed it was a gift, most likely from Betty. He wondered how long they'd been dating. "Archie and Veronica are waiting, remember?" 

Betty glanced at her own watch and her eyes widened. "Shoot, you're right." She stood up, as Jughead began packing away their things and turned to Chic. "Thank you so much, you have been so helpful. We'll just credit you as an anonymous source who lives nearby, does that sound okay?" 

"Fine to me." He replied monotonously. Betty nodded, tucking her chair in neatly. "You two have a double date or something?" 

Jughead chuckled "yeah, milkshakes and bowling," he licked his lips eagerly, sliding the satchel over his shoulders. "Catching up with some old friends, that's all."

What boring lives they led. 

"Have fun." He managed instead, smiling tightly. 

Betty beamed  _again,_ and the two of them walked out hand in hand. 

Chic stayed sitting at the kitchen table for a while, vaguely and faintly amused at the mundanity of the lives of those around him. 

 

But later that night, whilst asleep in bed, he was awoken by a sinister creaking from the hallway.

He was awake immediately, and sat bolt upright, blankets pooling around his waist. Moonlight spilled in through the window, and a slither of light was coming in through the slightly adjacent bedroom door. His first thought was that someone had seen him with Rebecca, but he dismissed it quickly, he'd been far too careful, and she'd had no friends by the time he was ready for her. She'd had no one, he'd made sure of it. His second thought, was of the journalists. Was it that maybe he had them pegged wrong? Were they perhaps more daring than he'd thought? Thinking they could sneak through his house and look for clues or whatever the fuck they thought they'd find whilst he was asleep?

He smirked to himself, throwing off the blankets and padding out of bed. He picked up his crowbar that was resting beside his bedroom door, and peered out through the crack. 

He could see nothing, and so nudged it open a little. It didn't creak, and he stepped out into the shadow. 

There was a torch sweeping around from the living room, so he wielded the bar in his hands, and crept closer. It was making him tingle a little, thinking about how he could have two more victims. Two more pools of blood to stand in, two more people to  _own_ and  _control._ He took an eager breath, and rounded the corner.

But the scene before him was nothing he could have prepared for. 

The sweeping torch was being held by- by Betty, but it wasn't- but it wasn't Betty. Chic stared uncomprehendingly at the...at the  _sexy_ dark haired girl relaxing in his armchair. It was Betty alright, but it was not the girl who had come eagerly knocking at his door earlier today. It was a sleek black bob with uniform bangs that cut away to reveal piercing blue eyes- no longer innocent and naive, but knowing and confident. 

Her lipstick was a striking red, even in the dark, and she was wearing a lace black, skin tight sheer top, long sleeved and high collared but almost entirely see through, showcasing a sexy, black bra beneath that matched her short black skirt and knee high black boots. The flash of pale white skin between her boots and skirt was an enticing strip of colour between the black, and she was holding the torch in her hands, stroking it up and down. She was a picture of seduction, completely at ease in his house.

It couldn't be the same girl- it couldn't be-

"Hey Chic," she purred, catching her full bottom lip in her teeth and winked at him. Her eyelids were streaked with black eyeshadow, and her face was flawless as marble. He stared at her, frozen, before watching as she swept the beam of the torch across the room, where it revealed Jughead.

"Oh, what the fuck," Chic whispered, because that was not Jughead.

This guy was wearing a leather jacket with a snake insignia- he was in a  _gang,_ the plaid-wearing beanie guy was in a gang. His beanie was long gone now, and his hair looked midnight blue under the makeshift spotlight. The black leather looked supple as skin, and there was an honest to god switchblade in his hand. The steel of it glinted in the light. "Hey Chic," Jughead echoed, two strands of hair falling into his eyes. 

Chic took a shaky step backwards. "Get out of my house."

Jughead smirked, and Betty rose out of the chair. The boots had high stiletto heels that made her Jughead's height, and she stood beside her boyfriend. He passed her the knife, which she took with her free hand, rolling it nimbly between her fingers. "I don't think so," she sighed, resting her elbow on Jughead's shoulder, the crinkle of the leather echoing in the quiet. "Do you wanna leave, Jug?" 

Jughead smirked, and the expression startled Chic. Jughead had seemed capable of stuttering, of making heart eyes at his gal, but the smirk looked cocky and dangerous. Chic could feel his heart begin to thump loudly in his chest. "Not just yet," he grinned, slow and lazily, flexing his fingers, and that's when Chic sees the knuckle duster. It looks well worn and viciously sharped, and eerily natural on his hands. Hands that earlier curled around a tea cup and tapped away onto a slow, dirty laptop with a too loud motor. 

Chic's starting to think he should be deathly afraid.

Betty, as though she can read his mind, smiles. It's a frightening, red ruby on her face, and she nods. "Run." She whispers.

It takes Chic a moment to understand what she's said, to process it, because he's too struck by the fact that this stunning thing in black was the bombardment of pastel pink he saw earlier today. By the time he does realise, Jughead's already lunged across the room, fast as lightening and Chic drops his crowbar with a clang but Jughead's on him, swinging his fist and there's a blinding sting of pain, before all he can see is black. 

 

When he comes to, he has no idea how long it's been. 

But the deranged couple are in his house, so he figures it must still be nighttime. All the blinds are drawn and they're in his bedroom. He's been tied- expertly, to one of his kitchen chairs and all the blinds are drawn. The lights are on, and he winces at that. His cheek is throbbing but he's refused to show pain, and instead takes stock. 

First, he tests his bindings. But they're far too tight, so he swings his eyes around the room. 

Betty and her heels are rifling through his chest of drawers, back to him, and Jughead and his leather jacket- fucking  _leather jacket_ with an even larger insignia stitched onto the back, is going through Chic's phone. 

Maybe, if they're not looking at him, he can-

"Looks like our friend's awake," Betty coos, her attention having swung around to Chic whilst he was focused on Jughead. He glares at her as she moves in front of him, and Jughead turns around too. He grins smugly, and Chic spits in his direction. "So Chic, you weren't entirely honest during our little interview earlier, were you?" 

He hates her. He'll kill her if he can. He grits his teeth in stony silence, and so Jughead steps forward, flexing his fingers.

The knuckleduster is stained with blood- Chic's blood. "Don't." He manages, and the couple share a victorious look. "What do you want? Money? You can take it-"

"We don't want your money," Betty frowns, throwing a disgusted look at him. "What we want is for people like you to stop destroying lives and causing chaos." She looks like murder but her voice has that same earnest note that he recognises from the interview. Do they think they're good people? 

"You're insa-"

She backs him hard across the face- his already bleeding side, and he cries out in pain and disbelief and then Jughead is pressing a switchblade against his throat- deep, it's cutting into the outer layer of skin.

"You  _never_ insult her again, got it?"

He manages a weak nod, and then Jughead's pulling away, and Chic notices how Betty's eyes follow him. Jughead notices too, and then they're leering at each other, and kissing.

It's messed up and Chic can't look away. They're undeniably attractive, his hands on her waist, switchblade in his fingers, and hers tangled in his hair. They're biting and rough and when they pull apart Jughead's lip is bleeding and Betty's lipstick looks redder than before. They're flushed red with attraction and if Chic didn't know it before, he knows it now. They're sick. Twisted.  _Dark._ He's not getting out of this alive. 

"Do you want first cut or should I?" Jughead asks against her lips, and she licks her own, considering. 

"Me." She decides, and takes the knife.

The last thing Chic sees before he faints with fright, is a vision of sex strutting towards him, and her snake man behind her, clapping in support. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, the response to my last fic in this series was absolutely incredible and I'm sorry that this was such a different one from it.
> 
> BUT FRET NOT you have super inspired me for that fairy tale au and I would love to continue it for the next instalment- picture travelling honeymoons and adventures and a kidnapped Jughead for Betty to rescue, and they're children and castles. 
> 
> But also any prompts/comments/declarations of love, I am here to accept and i love you all, so whatever makes you happy.
> 
> mwah mwah xx


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